Since I now work in the heart of Hollywood on one of the better known Television Lots in LA, I've had the pleasure of walking through the halls and seeing some of the lesser known, but equally brilliant actors in Hollywood. I know that most people who watch television and movies know who the major players are, but what of the co-stars; the B, C, or D-list actors that accompany all the big shots? You know you see them on the big screen, but do you really see them or do you have eyes only for you main attraction(s)?
When I'm out in public, I think I spot the below-the-line actors more than the A-listers because they're at the perfect amount of fame to where they get jobs, but don't have the paparazzi stalking them, therefore they don't have to cover up in gawd awful disguises. They wander around as themselves, glad when someone spots them and asks to take a picture, but not cool enough (a relative term) to be hounded by a gaggle of tweens. Most tourist in Hollywood probably don't get to snap a picture with their favorite celebrities because they don't notice them among all the other weirdos wearing hoodies and dark sunglasses in 90 degree heat. I'm just glad happy I like the people that can still be themselves when out running their errands.
I get giddy when I recognize a background actor on the Lot. I'm like, "That's the Mom from Picket Fences (Yes, a show that no one remembers or has heard of who's younger then 25) or, "that's the cool dorky guy from Road Trip and Memphis Blues". I love recognizing them and I almost go out of my way to say, "hello," but then I remind myself that I'm not a crazed groupie and they probably don't want to be bothered. But I smile as they pass by me in the hall, fiddling with their phones or drinking their coffee, being normal people, uninhibited in their daily routines by their success.
I just want all you wannabe actors out there to know that, even if you don't make it to uber stardom with the huge mansion and 7 cars, there are people in the world that will recognize you every time they see you on and off the screen and they will occasionally IMDB you to see what projects you are working on. You won't have the fan base that the mega stars have, but you can be living your dream and know that somewhere out there, someone is glad you're an actor and you make them smile, maybe just a tad, when they pass you on the street and give their brains a second to commute where they know you from.
The Dream (or any dream) is achievable and viable, you just have to make it happen for yourself and then go out and brighten someone's day.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
A Presidental Traffic Jam
President Obama was here in town yesterday, kindly going about his business meeting with famous people and addressing the concerns of the Nation without thought to his Secret Service men and the Los Angeles Sheriffs Department making it their duty to keep almost all people out of his way by a radius of several miles. This included closing/blocking off various main thoroughfares that most LA-ians use to commute to and from their multiple locations.
LA is not a grid city and therefore, very few streets actually transverse great distances across the city. Mostly streets go a few miles and then end at someone's driveway or a business. If you're a tourist, you stick to the the four or five main roads that manage to lead drivers across great distances of the city, but at the cost of sitting in traffic during random hours of the day. If you're a local (or someone who's lived here long enough to understand the traffic flow) you usually know back streets that bypass major traffic intersections and get you where you need to be with minimal horn honking and aggravation.
Obama's visit changed up the scenery for all commuters in the Hollywood, Westwood, Beverly Hills, and Century City areas by diverting main street traffic to little slivers of roads that pass by mansions and cute little hidey-hole shops that locals like to keep to themselves. This included closing off all streets east of Highland in Hollywood, the very street that I needed to drive down to get home after a long, hard day of sitting in my office watching the clock inch by. There's nothing like a 1 mile per hour traffic jam to put you in a happy, "end of work finally!" mood.
I can understand blocking off streets near where the President is going to be, but destroying home-bound commutes for numerous miles, nowhere near where the President is going to be, is a bit much. I guess the traffic problems wouldn't have been so bad if people in LA knew how to drive, but somehow there will always be morons that think they are special and if they manage to smile just right, they will somehow be allowed to drive around the police barricades while everyone else has to follow the natural flow of a detour.
This, in itself, caused the most bummer to bummer jams. I'd be following a person and all of a sudden they'd put on their blinker to turn Right, slow to a practically non-existent crawl, and attempt to maneuver past the flashing police car parked diagonal across several lines of the road. As if they didn't see the police car and its glorious blue and red blinking lights, they'd try to snail pace mow down the officer standing in the middle of the blocked street. Once the officer managed to get the diverted imbecile's attention, who attempted to flash apologetic puppy dog eyes at the unamused officer, the moron would swerve back in front of me just as I had finally managed to cross a particular intersection after 30 minutes of lagging, which left me blocking said intersection. A fine-able offense in most cities.
Needless-to-say, it was a frustrating hour and a half journey home with a heavy case of road rage bubbling to the surface. I use to be such a calm and respectful driver, now I all want to do is honk if someone sits at a green light longer than 1.2 seconds. It's not like the extra 5 minutes I'll gain from driving a few miles over the speed limit will help me much, it's just the fact that I want to maintain moving, no matter what direction. The gas, brake, gas, brake just doesn't work for my A.D.D. brain. Too much disruption and annoyance. Maybe I should take up yoga or meditation... probably not, idle minds might lead to the same thing as idle hands.
LA is not a grid city and therefore, very few streets actually transverse great distances across the city. Mostly streets go a few miles and then end at someone's driveway or a business. If you're a tourist, you stick to the the four or five main roads that manage to lead drivers across great distances of the city, but at the cost of sitting in traffic during random hours of the day. If you're a local (or someone who's lived here long enough to understand the traffic flow) you usually know back streets that bypass major traffic intersections and get you where you need to be with minimal horn honking and aggravation.
Obama's visit changed up the scenery for all commuters in the Hollywood, Westwood, Beverly Hills, and Century City areas by diverting main street traffic to little slivers of roads that pass by mansions and cute little hidey-hole shops that locals like to keep to themselves. This included closing off all streets east of Highland in Hollywood, the very street that I needed to drive down to get home after a long, hard day of sitting in my office watching the clock inch by. There's nothing like a 1 mile per hour traffic jam to put you in a happy, "end of work finally!" mood.
I can understand blocking off streets near where the President is going to be, but destroying home-bound commutes for numerous miles, nowhere near where the President is going to be, is a bit much. I guess the traffic problems wouldn't have been so bad if people in LA knew how to drive, but somehow there will always be morons that think they are special and if they manage to smile just right, they will somehow be allowed to drive around the police barricades while everyone else has to follow the natural flow of a detour.
This, in itself, caused the most bummer to bummer jams. I'd be following a person and all of a sudden they'd put on their blinker to turn Right, slow to a practically non-existent crawl, and attempt to maneuver past the flashing police car parked diagonal across several lines of the road. As if they didn't see the police car and its glorious blue and red blinking lights, they'd try to snail pace mow down the officer standing in the middle of the blocked street. Once the officer managed to get the diverted imbecile's attention, who attempted to flash apologetic puppy dog eyes at the unamused officer, the moron would swerve back in front of me just as I had finally managed to cross a particular intersection after 30 minutes of lagging, which left me blocking said intersection. A fine-able offense in most cities.
Needless-to-say, it was a frustrating hour and a half journey home with a heavy case of road rage bubbling to the surface. I use to be such a calm and respectful driver, now I all want to do is honk if someone sits at a green light longer than 1.2 seconds. It's not like the extra 5 minutes I'll gain from driving a few miles over the speed limit will help me much, it's just the fact that I want to maintain moving, no matter what direction. The gas, brake, gas, brake just doesn't work for my A.D.D. brain. Too much disruption and annoyance. Maybe I should take up yoga or meditation... probably not, idle minds might lead to the same thing as idle hands.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Diets and Thoughts of Murder
So when my co-workers found out I started a diet, they were like, "Why, you don't need to lose weight." "You're already thin." "Huh?" I responded with, "My friend wanted to go on a diet and she needed someone to split the cost of groceries with, so now I get to eat meals that are titled 'Watercress and Almond Salad with Roasted Onion Dressing' or 'Pan-Roasted Salmon with Wilted Chard and Tomato-Mint Raita' that are all home cooked by my friend, packed in lovely Tupperware containers and stocked in my fridge ready for consumption at a moments noticed." What could be better than yummy, healthy food that I don't have to cook myself?
Now, they're all like, "Yeah, I'd go on that diet." Plus I get to eat tons of snacks like: fruit, yogurt, edamame guacamole, nuts, turkey bacon, etc. It's awesome and I could do with losing the love handles.
My Friend needed Soy Milk for the diet and it was my job to pick it up from the market, but of course I forgot to get it the first night she asked and had to detoured on my way home this evening to the local Ralphs (grocery store) for the milk. Once I found the refrigerated aisle, I searched high and low for the wanted item, but among all the cow based milk products, coffee creams, and whipping creams, I discovered a void of empty shelves to which I leaned in to inspect the price labels attached to the blank metal and discovered the answer to why I couldn't spot the soy milk.
I walked the length of the coolers and still, could not find the one item I was entrusted to obtain. I felt like a failure, here, my friend is slaving away in the kitchen to feed me (and herself) and I can't even find her the one lousy fake-milk product she'd asked me to get? Man, I'm lame. I really didn't want to go to another Raplhs, mainly because I was tired and it was the opposite direction of my house, so I searched up and down the aisles for a Raplhs employee in hopes they could solve the mystery of the missing milk.
I finally spotted a lone employee asking the one other customer in the Raplhs if they needed help finding anything as the customer shook their head and walked on by. I stopped and said I needed help.
"Do you have Soy Milk?"
"Um, they moved them to the back where I can't even find them," the clerk said with a straight face.
I totally thought he was being sarcastic, so I responded with, "Oh, so they hide them [soy milk] from you too?"
"Yep."
A pregnant pause. I debated if the guy was messing with me, but when he sort of just stood there and said nothing more, I realized he was dead serious.
"Do you think you can go in the back and try to find me a container?" I looked impatient.
He stared at me for another few seconds.
"I really do need the milk." This finally propelled him into action and he slandered down the aisle and through the "Employees Only" double doors. 5 minutes later, after debating whether to cut my loss and head to another Raplhs, he shuffled through the doors empty handed and asked, "What brand do you need?"
Seriously!!!! I was about ready to kill the guy, debating if he was mental or really lazy.
"Any kind as long as it's regular soy milk." I about growl.
He turned and walked back through the grey doors. 3 minutes later I was walking to the cash registers with Organic Soy Milk in hand while thinking that I now have to pay for the most expensive fake milk the store sells and should I report the moron to his bosses for having bad costumer service or just pay for the milk and get the hell out of the store? I decided home was a much better option than being an asshole and I finally exited Raplhs 10 minutes after entering with one item in hand.
Sometime, it's the little things that can cause you such annoyance and possibly make you homicidal. Beware idiot Raplhs guy, you're on my list!
Now, they're all like, "Yeah, I'd go on that diet." Plus I get to eat tons of snacks like: fruit, yogurt, edamame guacamole, nuts, turkey bacon, etc. It's awesome and I could do with losing the love handles.
My Friend needed Soy Milk for the diet and it was my job to pick it up from the market, but of course I forgot to get it the first night she asked and had to detoured on my way home this evening to the local Ralphs (grocery store) for the milk. Once I found the refrigerated aisle, I searched high and low for the wanted item, but among all the cow based milk products, coffee creams, and whipping creams, I discovered a void of empty shelves to which I leaned in to inspect the price labels attached to the blank metal and discovered the answer to why I couldn't spot the soy milk.
I walked the length of the coolers and still, could not find the one item I was entrusted to obtain. I felt like a failure, here, my friend is slaving away in the kitchen to feed me (and herself) and I can't even find her the one lousy fake-milk product she'd asked me to get? Man, I'm lame. I really didn't want to go to another Raplhs, mainly because I was tired and it was the opposite direction of my house, so I searched up and down the aisles for a Raplhs employee in hopes they could solve the mystery of the missing milk.
I finally spotted a lone employee asking the one other customer in the Raplhs if they needed help finding anything as the customer shook their head and walked on by. I stopped and said I needed help.
"Do you have Soy Milk?"
"Um, they moved them to the back where I can't even find them," the clerk said with a straight face.
I totally thought he was being sarcastic, so I responded with, "Oh, so they hide them [soy milk] from you too?"
"Yep."
A pregnant pause. I debated if the guy was messing with me, but when he sort of just stood there and said nothing more, I realized he was dead serious.
"Do you think you can go in the back and try to find me a container?" I looked impatient.
He stared at me for another few seconds.
"I really do need the milk." This finally propelled him into action and he slandered down the aisle and through the "Employees Only" double doors. 5 minutes later, after debating whether to cut my loss and head to another Raplhs, he shuffled through the doors empty handed and asked, "What brand do you need?"
Seriously!!!! I was about ready to kill the guy, debating if he was mental or really lazy.
"Any kind as long as it's regular soy milk." I about growl.
He turned and walked back through the grey doors. 3 minutes later I was walking to the cash registers with Organic Soy Milk in hand while thinking that I now have to pay for the most expensive fake milk the store sells and should I report the moron to his bosses for having bad costumer service or just pay for the milk and get the hell out of the store? I decided home was a much better option than being an asshole and I finally exited Raplhs 10 minutes after entering with one item in hand.
Sometime, it's the little things that can cause you such annoyance and possibly make you homicidal. Beware idiot Raplhs guy, you're on my list!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Santa Monica Crazie
I went to the Farmers Market last Saturday and while waiting for a friend to weed through the identical bushels of lavender at one of the booths, I hovered on the edge of the table trying not to sniff too much - I really don't like the over powerful fragrance. For some reason, Lavender has been deemed a "Girlie scent", therefore making most people assume all women like the smell and want to buy it in whatever form they can find it or receive it as a gift. So not true, but of course, when I'm trying to look as non-disgusted as possible without holding my nose, a random lady starts to try and sell me on buying a lavender scented oil or a steam of the plant off the table.
"Isn't this a lovely smell," the lady waves the oil bottle under my nose as I try to refrain from whacking her hand away.
"I'm not really a fan of Lavender," my voice even.
"Oh," she thinks a beat, "Well there's a peppermint oil and a jasmine one," she points to the little amber bottles sitting on the white linen.
I almost dislike peppermint as much as Lavender, clearly my "woman gene" is on the fritz, "Those are infused with Lavender," I state.
"Are they?" she actually picks up one of the bottles and examines its label, "So it is, but it's a light scent."
"Yea, still, I'm not a fan."
"How about a nice bundle of the steams?" she reaches for the light purple and green leaves.
"Thank you, but no thanks. I'm just waiting on a friend," I desperately try to pretend I'm interested in some small shit-kicker trying to escape from its owners tiny black purse.
The lady puts the dreaded plant back in its bucket and ambles down the booth lined street to another vendor. I watch her retreating back, realizing she didn't even work for the lavender seller. So why the hell was she so adamant on trying to get me to buy a product that wasn't even her own? Good ole Santa Monica crazies!
"Isn't this a lovely smell," the lady waves the oil bottle under my nose as I try to refrain from whacking her hand away.
"I'm not really a fan of Lavender," my voice even.
"Oh," she thinks a beat, "Well there's a peppermint oil and a jasmine one," she points to the little amber bottles sitting on the white linen.
I almost dislike peppermint as much as Lavender, clearly my "woman gene" is on the fritz, "Those are infused with Lavender," I state.
"Are they?" she actually picks up one of the bottles and examines its label, "So it is, but it's a light scent."
"Yea, still, I'm not a fan."
"How about a nice bundle of the steams?" she reaches for the light purple and green leaves.
"Thank you, but no thanks. I'm just waiting on a friend," I desperately try to pretend I'm interested in some small shit-kicker trying to escape from its owners tiny black purse.
The lady puts the dreaded plant back in its bucket and ambles down the booth lined street to another vendor. I watch her retreating back, realizing she didn't even work for the lavender seller. So why the hell was she so adamant on trying to get me to buy a product that wasn't even her own? Good ole Santa Monica crazies!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Social Traffic
What is the deal with traffic? I can not understand why people constantly have to slow to look at the most mundane of things - a broken down car, a parked tow truck waiting for a call, some smooshed roadkill, etc. It's not even like it's a fender bender or a lunatic wandering in the street? You would think people would be wanting to get on their merry little ways and keep the flow of traffic moving, but no, our society of gawkers is astounding. Do people just think that pain, death or anxiety in others is worthy viewing material? It's like a form of crack to driver's, they can't help but to stop and look, hoping to spot broken glass, a trail of blood, or a fist fight that might break out at any moment. They seem to view all things stopped on the side of the road as a potential accidents or tragedies that will fuel their water cooler chatter for the day.
They don't care if someone is hurt or if they've slowed to a stop for two seconds,inadvertently creating a 3 hour traffic jam at that very spot they stopped to view an abandoned car. We are a collective of selfish people, subconsciously seeking out things out of the ordinary for our typical lives because it gives us a sense of relief that we're not the person in trouble or hurt, but an objective viewer that can revel in the grief or frustration of others without being directly effected.
We want to view hardships other then our own, not live them, and stopping to spot things on the side of the road helps us accomplish this goal, even at the cost of sitting for 2 hours moving an inch every 5 minutes to achieve this goal. It is so sad what types of people our social environment has turned us into. So I ask you, dear readers, if you see something on the side of the road, and it doesn't have a blinking orange arrow or red flames directing you to move to another lane, just keep driving...keep the flow of cars proceeding to their destinations unhindered by brake lights.
They don't care if someone is hurt or if they've slowed to a stop for two seconds,inadvertently creating a 3 hour traffic jam at that very spot they stopped to view an abandoned car. We are a collective of selfish people, subconsciously seeking out things out of the ordinary for our typical lives because it gives us a sense of relief that we're not the person in trouble or hurt, but an objective viewer that can revel in the grief or frustration of others without being directly effected.
We want to view hardships other then our own, not live them, and stopping to spot things on the side of the road helps us accomplish this goal, even at the cost of sitting for 2 hours moving an inch every 5 minutes to achieve this goal. It is so sad what types of people our social environment has turned us into. So I ask you, dear readers, if you see something on the side of the road, and it doesn't have a blinking orange arrow or red flames directing you to move to another lane, just keep driving...keep the flow of cars proceeding to their destinations unhindered by brake lights.
Monday, July 19, 2010
My Birtdhay Wish
Hello Everyone,
I am one of those people that really hates being the center of attention, having all eyes on her, so celebrating a birthday is pretty scary to me. Having everyone around you, wanting to celebrate in me turning a year older, it's a daunting conscept. But when you have amazing friends, parties can be fun and the people you're with, help you not realize the extra grey hairs you've aquired or the little more pug to your midsection. They remind you of the good times and the crazy times you had with them in the past and share in new memories to be remembered. So for this birthday, I would like every single one of you that reads this page, as your present to me, to leave a comment. You can write whatever you want: a single letter, an expletive, a poem, a short story, gibberish, your name, etc. Just leave me something so I know you care. I love creativity and gifts that come from the heart. I know that almost everyone who will visit this blog today will visit it because I asked them to, so follow through with my wishes and leave me a "comment" of anything, as long as it's not two simple, but unoriginal words of, "Happy Birthday." Anything but those words. And thank you ahead of time for your best wishes.
I am one of those people that really hates being the center of attention, having all eyes on her, so celebrating a birthday is pretty scary to me. Having everyone around you, wanting to celebrate in me turning a year older, it's a daunting conscept. But when you have amazing friends, parties can be fun and the people you're with, help you not realize the extra grey hairs you've aquired or the little more pug to your midsection. They remind you of the good times and the crazy times you had with them in the past and share in new memories to be remembered. So for this birthday, I would like every single one of you that reads this page, as your present to me, to leave a comment. You can write whatever you want: a single letter, an expletive, a poem, a short story, gibberish, your name, etc. Just leave me something so I know you care. I love creativity and gifts that come from the heart. I know that almost everyone who will visit this blog today will visit it because I asked them to, so follow through with my wishes and leave me a "comment" of anything, as long as it's not two simple, but unoriginal words of, "Happy Birthday." Anything but those words. And thank you ahead of time for your best wishes.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Fireworks and Port-o-Potties.
You know when you go to large events and there are always real, in-a-building-type bathrooms, and then there are always a wall of port-o-potties set up somewhere near the real bathrooms? When Robby, myself and a group of our friends went to the 4th of July fireworks event at the Santa Barbara beach yesterday, we had to decide which of these lovely facilities to use. Yes, there were 20,000+ people weaving themselves in and out amongst everyone else, blocking your way by walking at a snails pace or randomly stopping to stare at a shit kicker of a Chihuahua, making it so your anticipated annoyment at waiting in a line for a port-o-potty that much worse.
We had been closer to the building bathrooms first and as we approached its beige walls and murky yellow lighting, we noticed something equally disturbing, a line of women milling about out, starting from the entrance, extending down the pathway to the sidewalk and hooking a right, ending further down the street. The boy's side wasn't much better. I looked at Robby, "Hell no," my head indicating the line of women and then pointing towards the second bathroom option for the evening, "Scary X-file port-o-potty's it is." 15 yards to the right of the amazingly long Women's bathroom line was the start of the port-o-potty line, but this line was different.
Upon approaching the tall gray shit houses that make you cringe every time you touch the sides, there was chaos. One large line that we'd originally seen from standing by the real bathrooms was for the wheelchair shit box only. Apparently most people were willing to wait for the large port-o-potty because they wouldn't have to touch anything except the door and the floor and it looked more conducive for the people with little children. Sadly, I wonder what would happened if some one in a wheelchair actually rolled up to the box, would they have first priority to line jump or would they have to wait like everybody else?
Once we managed to make it past the wheelchair line, we were immersed in the chaos. 15 port-o-potties all with their own version of a line, either a group of people waiting for a couple shit boxes or people standing in front of one single box. Robby and I chose to be behind the line that was attached to one shit box rather than multiple because there is always the chance of getting cut when you're in the multiples lines. Yes, it's sad and petty, but if you're going to wait for 15-20 minutes to use a smelly and untouchable toilet, you don't want to be cut by a random Joe Blow that has just walked up. It's not fair and it really urks me. Can you just imagine a lovely cat fight over a port-o-potty, two women flipping their hair back, raising their index fingers to shake, and preparing their, "if looks could kill," stares? Not pretty for the two people involved, but most likely great entertainment for the rest of the people waiting.
Anyhow, the two port-o-potties that Robby and I happened to stand in front of were the mysterious, never opening port-o-potties. Every box around us, doors opening and closing, people coming and going, mostly rubbing hand sanitizer between their palms upon exiting, but the doors in front of us remained closed. Two Asian Women showed up next to me and started talking in broken English about the slow people in the Johns we'd stood in front of. I don't know why they were complaining, they'd only been standing there 3 minutes, but it was funny. We all kept wondering if someone was actually in them, I even joked that the x-files monster managed to survive the past ten years and was current active in Santa Barbara, but when I knocked, I was rewarded with a grumble, so yeah, the guy just got lost, not eaten. A mid-thirties drunk man appeared on my left and slurred out, "Man, did we choose the slowest ones or what?" he looks at me for confirmation, "Yes, I think they fell in," an old saying of my Dad's. The guys tilts his head and then nods, "yeah, yeah, that's a good one."
One of the shit boxes next to the never opening ones, was free and Robby, then I, grabbed it. After I finally got to go and was exiting the stuffy little box of crap, I saw one of the Asian women still waiting and I asked her if someone had come out. "Yes, a man came out." I was equal pissed that I didn't get to see what the guy that lived in the port-o-potty looked like and equally happy I didn't have to use the shit box that someone had previously occupied for 15 minutes or longer - I think it was occupied before we showed up to wait. Advice for going to one of these events in the future: either try to hold it, invest in a funnel, or just knock over the never opening shit box because it's way more entertaining then standing around out front waiting and you just might forget that you need to go through all your laughter (or you just won't care that you don't have to go anymore if you know what I mean.)
With that, I hope everyone had an enjoyable 4th of July.
We had been closer to the building bathrooms first and as we approached its beige walls and murky yellow lighting, we noticed something equally disturbing, a line of women milling about out, starting from the entrance, extending down the pathway to the sidewalk and hooking a right, ending further down the street. The boy's side wasn't much better. I looked at Robby, "Hell no," my head indicating the line of women and then pointing towards the second bathroom option for the evening, "Scary X-file port-o-potty's it is." 15 yards to the right of the amazingly long Women's bathroom line was the start of the port-o-potty line, but this line was different.
Upon approaching the tall gray shit houses that make you cringe every time you touch the sides, there was chaos. One large line that we'd originally seen from standing by the real bathrooms was for the wheelchair shit box only. Apparently most people were willing to wait for the large port-o-potty because they wouldn't have to touch anything except the door and the floor and it looked more conducive for the people with little children. Sadly, I wonder what would happened if some one in a wheelchair actually rolled up to the box, would they have first priority to line jump or would they have to wait like everybody else?
Once we managed to make it past the wheelchair line, we were immersed in the chaos. 15 port-o-potties all with their own version of a line, either a group of people waiting for a couple shit boxes or people standing in front of one single box. Robby and I chose to be behind the line that was attached to one shit box rather than multiple because there is always the chance of getting cut when you're in the multiples lines. Yes, it's sad and petty, but if you're going to wait for 15-20 minutes to use a smelly and untouchable toilet, you don't want to be cut by a random Joe Blow that has just walked up. It's not fair and it really urks me. Can you just imagine a lovely cat fight over a port-o-potty, two women flipping their hair back, raising their index fingers to shake, and preparing their, "if looks could kill," stares? Not pretty for the two people involved, but most likely great entertainment for the rest of the people waiting.
Anyhow, the two port-o-potties that Robby and I happened to stand in front of were the mysterious, never opening port-o-potties. Every box around us, doors opening and closing, people coming and going, mostly rubbing hand sanitizer between their palms upon exiting, but the doors in front of us remained closed. Two Asian Women showed up next to me and started talking in broken English about the slow people in the Johns we'd stood in front of. I don't know why they were complaining, they'd only been standing there 3 minutes, but it was funny. We all kept wondering if someone was actually in them, I even joked that the x-files monster managed to survive the past ten years and was current active in Santa Barbara, but when I knocked, I was rewarded with a grumble, so yeah, the guy just got lost, not eaten. A mid-thirties drunk man appeared on my left and slurred out, "Man, did we choose the slowest ones or what?" he looks at me for confirmation, "Yes, I think they fell in," an old saying of my Dad's. The guys tilts his head and then nods, "yeah, yeah, that's a good one."
One of the shit boxes next to the never opening ones, was free and Robby, then I, grabbed it. After I finally got to go and was exiting the stuffy little box of crap, I saw one of the Asian women still waiting and I asked her if someone had come out. "Yes, a man came out." I was equal pissed that I didn't get to see what the guy that lived in the port-o-potty looked like and equally happy I didn't have to use the shit box that someone had previously occupied for 15 minutes or longer - I think it was occupied before we showed up to wait. Advice for going to one of these events in the future: either try to hold it, invest in a funnel, or just knock over the never opening shit box because it's way more entertaining then standing around out front waiting and you just might forget that you need to go through all your laughter (or you just won't care that you don't have to go anymore if you know what I mean.)
With that, I hope everyone had an enjoyable 4th of July.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
